


It's A Long Way Down

by romanitas



Series: Five Times [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 15:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8167390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanitas/pseuds/romanitas
Summary: Five times Annabeth and Percy held hands.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is about two years old, oops! but i wanted to archive it and some others on ao3, so here we are. written pre-blood of olympus.

**one**.

“On your left!”

Percy ducks into a roll at her words; he doesn’t even think about it, coming back to his feet after narrowly avoiding decapitation. Annabeth is by his side in two seconds, and he feels safer with her there. A glance at her face tells him she’s working on a plan, but they don’t have a lot of time for that.

“ _Annabeth_ ,” he warns, catching the claw in Riptide as the monster lashes at them. She jumps up, swinging herself on the creature’s back and trying to stab her knife into its neck. It bucks, throwing her off, and she only manages to slash over its shoulder on the way down.

She curses it out colorfully, climbing to her feet with a small stumble, and then Percy’s by _her_  side. He looks at her expectantly, waiting.

And then she grabs his hand. He has about two seconds for surprise and no time for embarrassment, because then she breaks into a run, dragging him along behind her.

“ _This_  is your plan?” he grunts out, trying to keep pace with her. He tightens his grip on her hand as they run, not wanting to fall behind or lose her.

“Do you have a better one?” she snaps. He’s pretty sure she’s going to yank his arm out of the socket before they come full stop, but honestly, he doesn’t have a better plan. So he lets her. And they run, hand in hand, making obstacle courses out of nothing while they work on trying to lose it.

He does, however, have the time to notice how calloused her palm is. It’s much rougher than his.

**two**.

Annabeth blinks herself slowly awake. Grover’s on watch, but he’s dutiful, doesn’t notice her stirring and keeps his attention outward.

Her arm feels stiff. She goes to move it, only she can’t. Something’s in her hand, holding her still. She fights off a wave of panic, jerking herself awake as her eyes dart downward, where she finds – Percy’s hand.

Percy’s hand, holding on to hers.

If that wasn’t startling enough, she realizes it’s not a one-way street here, that her fingers are just as woven through his.

She _knows_  she didn’t fall asleep like that, which brings a blush crawling to her face – because that means they must have found each other’s hands during the night. And she really, really doesn’t want to think about the implications of that.

Then she chides herself for thinking about _implications_ , because she’s just holding his stupid hand, it doesn’t mean anything.

Despite that, Annabeth is very careful as she tries to pull her hand from his. Whether that’s because she wants to avoid the embarrassment of him waking up to catch the sight too or because she wants to let him keep sleeping is a secret she’ll share with no one.

There’s only a _little_  regret when her fingers finally come free, especially at the way his hand shifts around, as if looking to take hers once more.

**three**.

They’ve only been dating about a month, but apparently that’s long enough for his mom to decide that a double date is in order. Well, okay, if he’s being fair, neither Paul nor his mom worded it that way, but it’s hard not to _think_  of it that way, not when his parents are sitting across the table and jointly looking over a menu. Percy is hyperaware of Annabeth beside him – their legs keep brushing up against each other, but he can’t tell if she’s doing it on purpose or not. He’s not sure which would be the better truth.

He probably shouldn’t be so _nervous_ , because there’s literally nothing to be nervous over. It’s his mom. It’s Paul. It’s _Annabeth_ , who’d punch him if he confessed feeling weird right now.

His leg starts jiggling, but he’s only partially aware of the motion. He becomes suddenly aware when her hand comes to rest on his knee, and he stills.

Percy can feel a blush licking up his neck, which is even stupider – he puts his hand down under the table, with the intent to shove hers away. Only when his fingers brush against her skin, she flips her palm and presses it to his; she squeezes his hand, gently, looking at him out of the corner of her eye with a tiny smile.

And something in him deflates. Relaxes. He smiles back, ignorant to the knowing look crossing between his parents, and Annabeth keeps her hand where it is, keeps that connection as she starts talking about food choices out loud.

He could really get used to this.

**four**.

Someone (everyone) would probably call it sappy, but Percy doesn’t really care. He’s missed her, so much, maybe too much – but every time he catches sight of Annabeth on board the Argo II, he finds his way over and proves himself a joyful interruption.

If she’s annoyed by it, it doesn’t show, and she’s hardly the type to let him stick around if she didn’t want him there. He’ll take it as a sign that she’s missed him a lot, too.

They’re on guard duty first up that night, and they pace around as standard – but Percy ends up beside her within the first half hour. She’s leaning over the railing, watching the earth sail by beneath them, and he’s distracted by the breeze waltzing with her curls. He reaches out, tucks one behind her ear, and her attention snaps to his face.

“Sorry,” he offers, not sounding particularly apologetic. It’s kind of like he just wants to keep contact with her, wants to keep her close.

Annabeth shakes her head, but she winds her arm down and weaves her fingers through his. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s grabbed her hand lately; it’s such a simple thing, but he can’t get enough of it. She steadies him, the only memory he kept while being thrown to the wolves (literally _and_  figuratively), and as long as she’s there, Percy feels like he’s capable of anything.

She leans in and kisses him once, but he’s only too happy to return it, stepping in closer so he can kiss her harder. He’s dangerously close to wrapping his arms around her and maybe thinking about what it might be like to haul her up on the railing, legs around his waist (for balance, _obviously_ ), when she pushes him back with a warning look in her eyes.

“We’re on watch, Percy.” She’s saying it and he hears it, but her eyes are shining in the starlight and she’s perfect; it’s a sound reason for wanting to ignore her words, he thinks. She takes a step backward, but he tightens his grip on her hand.

“I don’t use my left to wield Riptide, Annabeth.”

She snorts and rolls her eyes, his favorite combination, and it takes all he has not to start kissing her all over again. But it’s enough that she keeps her hand in his, throughout the duration of their watch and doesn’t let go till they separate to sleep.

**five**.

He lets go of the ledge.

There are about five seconds where Annabeth feels like she’s floating, before the sensation of falling sets in; she watches his face above her, the way the sky halos him and his look of determination. The air rushes around him, blowing through his hair, and she takes these few moments to memorize the sight.

She squeezes his hand. His fingers are familiar, a lot rougher than they used to be, and she is falling into _hell_ , but there’s something safe with his hand in hers.

They keep falling. He reaches for her with his other hand, and she can feel the scrapes and blood on his skin from clutching the edge so desperately. It’s probably painful, but she can’t let him go, clinging to it as a reminder of what he’s given up by throwing himself over beside her. The last thing she sees before the sun disappears and darkness consumes them is his eyes, holding on to her gaze steadfastly.

It almost hurts, how tightly they’re clinging, but it’s a comfort in the contact. He’s still there, she can feel him, trust and know that he’s with her. That he refused to let her go. And considering their end destination, she’ll take that small warmth.

She’ll take more than that, fighting against the wind and nothingness to pull herself closer, to press into him like an anchor; he steadies her, reminds her that home is possible and not a concept out of her reach, that he’s done so many stupid things for her sake, but this might be the stupidest. They could die. They’re probably going to die. In the face of that, their fingers entwined like a vice hammers home how much he loves her. She only lets go of his hands when she’s sure she can hold on to him the whole way down instead.


End file.
